


Reluctance is a Virtue

by pullthesteeringwheel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Affectionate Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel is sort of a prep, Casual Intimacy, Chuck Shurley Tries, Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Depression, Family Feels, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Castiel, Good Parent Chuck Shurley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Castiel, Platonic Touching, Self-Harm, Summer, Touch-Starved Castiel, at first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-16 12:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18691615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pullthesteeringwheel/pseuds/pullthesteeringwheel
Summary: Castiel had a suitcase at his heels, a duffle bag on his shoulder, instructions to find aRobert Singer, and nothing much else to lose.You know the story, kid ends up in the care of his Vodka Aunt in New York when his mom dies tragically and his father is too grief-stricken to raise him, then he ends up in Catholic school when his aunt is too busy to watch a teenager, and then—because apparently the coat closet of a Catholic school isn't the best place for your first gay make-out—he ends up on his dad's doorstep for the first time since he was five.And then there's Dean Winchester.Or, What You Wish They Taught You At Sunday School





	Reluctance is a Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> I feel I should mention, Chuck is a little out of character in this, in the sense that Canon!Chuck (even pre-Moriah) is a dick, and my Chuck is not. Well. In my opinion. 
> 
> The only thing the Cedar Hill in this story has in common with the actual Cedar Hill, TN, is its name and coordinates. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged! As long as you're not an asshole. Definitely point out any technical/grammatical errors, please, and my writing in general, if you'd like. 
> 
> Lastly and most importantly, big trigger warning for self-harm. It's not going to be a huge part of the story, but it is a part of the story. Keep yourself safe, please. 
> 
> And trigger warning for food. There's no ED stuff here, but there are descriptions of food/food smells.

Castiel had a suitcase at his heels, a duffle bag on his shoulder, instructions to find a _Robert Singer_ , and nothing much else to lose.

The instructions weren't exactly specific—baseball cap, short beard, old truck—but Castiel turns a corner and knows immediately that he's found him. He's leaning against his truck (check), watching Castiel from under the brim of his cap (check), and eating what appears to be sunflower seeds. (Beard, check.)

Something familiar clicks into Castiel’s chest.

“Ah—Mr. Singer?”

He rolls his eyes. “Spare me. It's Bobby.”

“Right,” Castiel says, biting his lip, “Bobby. Okay. I’m—” 

“Castiel,” Bobby finishes for him. ”I know. Your dad asked me to pick you up, remember?” 

No, actually, he doesn't remember, because no one _told_ him that. No one's bothered to tell him much of anything, in fact. Just the bare basics needed to get here. But there's no point in saying any of that, so instead he nods his head and doesn't say anything. 

Bobby stares at him for a few more seconds before pushing off of his truck and pulling open the driver side door. “Put your stuff in the back so we can hurry up and get out of this God-forsaken city already.” 

He does as told, loading his suitcase and duffle into the bed of the truck before sliding into the passenger seat. Bobby's pulling out before he's even got his seatbelt buckled. 

For a few minutes, the truck is silent, Bobby carefully weaving his way out of the parking garage, and Castiel fiddling with his sleeves. “Do you not like Nashville?” Castiel asks, when the truck pulls out of the garage into the bright light of day. 

Bobby shrugs, changing lanes. “I don't like _cities_. I ain't got anything against Nashville in particular, but the bigger the city, the bigger the stupidity.” That seems to be all he's planning to say, but then he cuts a glance at Castiel and continues, “Of course, I'm sure you know all about that, living in New York, and all.” 

Castiel opens his mouth, then closes it again. That wasn't exactly an insult, but it certainly wasn't a compliment, either. “It has its moments,” he settles on. “Have you ever been?” He's trying for polite, but talking to Bobby is like trying to get through a minefield on roller-skates. 

“Once or twice,” he says. 

Well. There is something Castiel is curious to know. “So, you know my father?” 

Bobby glances at him again, but this time there's something a little more considering in his gaze, a little warmer. He looks back to the road and rolls his lips between his teeth before answering, “Yeah. It's a small town, so everybody knows everybody, you know, but. Me and your dad go back a pretty far ways.” 

Castiel looks at him. ”How far?” 

“Since before you were born, that's for sure.” 

“So you—knew me. When I was little.” 

Bobby actually huffs a laugh at that. Miracle of miracles. “Yeah, I knew you. I watched you a few times, when your parents needed a break.” 

Castiel isn't sure how he's supposed to feel about that. “I, um. When I saw you, I didn't recognize you, exactly, but you were. Familiar, I guess.” 

Bobby nods. “I don't reckon you remember a lot from before, do you?” 

“No,” Castiel says, quieter than he means to. 

“Yeah, well. Town hasn't changed much since you been there last.” 

Castiel stares at his hands in his lap, picking at his nails. “And my father?” 

He doesn't look up, but he can feel Bobby’s eyes on him. “A lot can happen in twelve years,” he says eventually. “Chuck’s had a pretty rough go of it, to put it mildly, but once he pulled his head out of his ass he started doin’ a lot better,” When Castiel doesn't say anything, Bobby hesitates, blows out a breath, then goes on, “You know, the happiest I've seen him in these past twelve years was when he found out you were comin’ down. He's nervous as hell, but he's happy. If you give him a chance, he might surprise you.” 

Castiel doesn't know what he would say even if he _could_ pull in enough breath to speak, so instead he just nods. Thankfully, Bobby seems to understand, because he doesn't try to say anything else. 

Once he's able to breathe normally again, he leans his head back against his seat and watches the world rush by through the window. Bobby must have taken an exit somewhere, for they're now on the interstate leading them out of the city, and before long Castiel sees more and more green, and less and less gray. 

And then instead of the interstate, they're on a highway, and then a tree-lined road, and in what seems like no time at all they're in Cedar Hill, Tennessee. 

This level of anxiety can't be good for the human body. 

This is the town Castiel was born in, and he supposes it should feel something like coming home to be here again, or at the very at least _familiar_ , but all he feels right now is a terror unparalleled. And nauseous. 

He has a few fuzzy memories of this place, but none of them are anything he wants to get nostalgic about. He remembers the blurry shape of his father, barely holding it together, and the shaky outline of his mother, barely holding on. 

Most clear of all, he remembers the day his mother died. He was five years old, and it was the last time he ever saw this town, or his father. 

Chuck’s sister had taken care of Castiel while his father had his hands full taking care of a sick wife, and then his mother died, and his father's hands were full of grief. So Aunt Amara took Castiel back to New York with her. 

He hasn't seen his father since he was five years old, and now he's going to be _living_ with him. Bobby seems to think that Castiel is apprehensive about Chuck’s skill as a parent, but really he just has no idea what to expect. What are they supposed to talk about? Is he going to want him and Castiel to eat dinner together? (Do families even actually do that?) Is Castiel supposed to call him _Dad?_

And the biggest question of all, the one Castiel is trying desperately not to think about, is, of course, _how does he feel about Castiel being gay?_

Whether he knows or not isn’t even a question, because that's the whole reason Castiel is here in the first place. Specifically, getting caught making out with another boy in the janitor’s closet of his Catholic school is what got him sent here. More specifically, it got him expelled, and Dear Aunt Amara is the one that sent him here. 

But, semantics. The important thing is that Castiel is about to be reunited with his estranged father, and his Big Gay Scandal is the horse it all rode in on. 

Castiel wishes he had something he could tear apart. His lips are chewed just as raw as his cuticles. 

“Jesus, kid, breathe,” Bobby says, and that's not bad advice, actually. He closes his eyes and starts counting. _Inhale. Exhale. Seven seconds in. Seven seconds out._

The truck is shifted into park, and Castiel opens his eyes. 

They're in a driveway. 

He leans forward to see farther out of the windshield and. And there it is. The house isn't huge, but it definitely looks too big for one person. “Is this,” he tries, and then again, louder, “Is this the same house?” 

“Yep,” Bobby says. 

It's rock and dark wood, two stories—one and a half?—there's a garage, and a back porch. There's a yard, surrounded by trees. It's nice. Homey. 

_Seven seconds in. Seven seconds out._

Castiel unbuckles his seat belt at the same moment the garage door begins to open. Inexplicably, he's suddenly desperate to be out of this truck, and he has a brief altercation with the door before he can get it open, but then he finally gets it, and the door’s open, and he's climbing out of the cab, and his feet are on the ground, and now the garage door is wide open. 

For the first time in twelve years, Castiel sees his father, and whatever desperation had taken hold of him evaporates. He's completely frozen, clinging onto the passenger door for dear life, just staring. Chuck is staring right back. He's wearing a dark t-shirt and light jeans, and he has a scruffy beard. He's a real person. The blurry shape in Castiel's memories sharpens into focus. 

Chuck smiles, though it's sort of wobbly, and he raises his hand in a little wave. “Hey,” he says. He sounds like he just ran a mile. 

“Hello,” Castiel replies, like someone in a horror movie exploring an abandoned building. 

The slam of the driver-side door of Bobby's truck makes them both jump. “For Christ's sake.” He takes Castiel's bags out of the bed of the truck and drops them at Castiel's feet. “As fun as this has been,” he says, ”I've got a date with Marie Callender I can't be late for. If I may make a suggestion, Chuck, why don't you show Castiel where he can put his bags?” He rounds back over to the driver-side, so Castiel picks up his bags, closes the passenger door, and makes for the garage. 

He and Chuck stand there shoulder-to-shoulder and watch in silence as Bobby drives away. Once the truck is out of sight, Chuck blows out a breath and faces Castiel. “Right,” he says. “I'll show you your room.” 

“Okay.” He's a couple inches taller than Chuck. 

“Okay,” Chuck says quietly, then nods like he's bracing himself. “Okay,” he repeats, louder this time, and gives a Castiel a too-cheery smile before he turns on his heel and heads into the house proper. 

Castiel follows his father through a door that takes them into what looks like a pantry, then through another door that leads to the kitchen, then they come through the living room where there's a set of stairs. 

Chuck leads them up to a little landing at the top of the stairs and through a door that opens up into what Castiel assumes is his room. 

“So,” Chuck says, “here it is.” He stays standing by the door while Castiel sits his bags down on the floor and drifts to the center of the room. He turns in a slow circle, taking it in. In the far right corner is a full sized bed, in the left corner is a bookshelf, to the left of the door is a chest of drawers, and to the right of the door is a little nook where a desk sits in front of a window, all made of the same dark wood. There's even a matching nightstand by the bed. 

“I hope it's okay,” Chuck says, from where he's fidgeting by the door. He looks like he's trying to keep his arms crossed but keeps finding himself biting his nails. “The furniture’s all new. I never really used this room before, so it was pretty much empty. And I didn't really know what kind of stuff you liked, so. I thought I'd leave the decorating up to you.” 

“I like it,” Castiel says, and he means it. It's certainly more space than he's ever had. He can see himself being comfortable here, and the thought is only a little bit terrifying. “I—thank you.” 

“Of course, yeah. Good. Oh, and.” He walks over to a door on the left wall, to the right of the dresser, that Castiel's brain didn't register before. There's another door to the left of the bed. Chuck opens it and flips on a light. “Here's your closet. There's a lot of space, and uh. I'll bring some clothes hangers up here later.” 

Castiel leans his head in and sees that Chuck's right, there is quite a bit of space. He definitely doesn't have enough clothes to fill it. He leans back out when Chuck starts talking again. 

“And over here's your bathroom. There's a door between it and the closet, too.” He opens the other door and Castiel peeks into there, too. It's smaller than the closet, with a toilet, sink, and standing shower. Castiel feels himself smiling. 

He turns back to Chuck. “I get my own bathroom?” 

Chuck smiles too, and it's much more natural than his previous attempts. “Yep. All yours.” His face turns thoughtful. “We'll have to get you some towels. Actually, we'll have to get you a lot of stuff. We can go into the city this weekend, if you want.” 

How much money has Chuck spent on him already? As far as he knows, Chuck is a high school English teacher, so he can't have that much extra money laying around, right? Either way, Castiel really does need a few things. “Okay.” 

“Alright, great. Come on, I'll give you the tour of the house.” 

 — 

Chuck shows Castiel the rest of the house, and Castiel tries to act like his skin isn't buzzing with anxiety. 

Castiel knows, in a sort of detached way, that he's been in this house before. He spent the first five years of his life here, in fact. He just doesn't remember any of it. 

With every new room he follows Chuck into, he can see it. He can see that this house was meant for a family. He can almost feel the weight of bereavement on his shoulders, like the house itself is grieving. How Chuck managed to spend the last twelve years here alone, Castiel has no idea. 

This is the house he was supposed to grow up in. The house he never thought he'd step foot in again. The house that's supposed to be his home for the foreseeable future. The house he returned to. 

The house, it seems, hasn't given up on it's idea of having a family. 

After the tour is finished, Chuck leaves to get them some dinner. (Maybe he's just as nervous about the domesticity of eating a home-cooked meal together as Castiel is? Or maybe he just can't cook. Or maybe both.) He estimated he should be gone close to an hour, so Castiel goes upstairs to unpack. 

Even though he was technically living with his aunt, he spent most of his time away at school, and only came home for the summers. He learned how to prioritize his essentials—Catholic school certainly didn't allow for much in the way of sentimentality—so everything that was really important to him was what he took to school. Nothing he had at Amara’ house was worth the effort of taking with him. 

He dumps the contents of his suitcase on his bed and drops it back on the floor. 

His suitcase was just clothes, and he doesn't have much to sort through. Underwear and socks go in the top drawer, pajamas go in the second, shirts and sweaters in the third, and pants in the fourth. Well. He'll find something to fill the closet with eventually. He does have a couple jackets to hang up, at least. 

Next and last is the duffle, which holds all of his non-clothes possessions. He dumps it out on the bed too, a little more carefully. Headphones and chapstick go in the drawer of his nightstand. Books go on the bookshelf. Pencils go in the desk. Toiletries go in his ( _his!_ ) bathroom. His poster of Allen Ginsberg goes on the wall next to the door. 

Completely unpacked, Castiel stands in the middle of his room and just. Looks at it. Looks at his stuff in here, like it belongs here, like he lives here. Because he does live here. 

He covers his face with his hands and tries very hard not to cry. 

There's one last thing still sitting on his bed, and when he's got himself somewhat under control, he grabs it and sits on the floor, back against the bed frame. 

A matchbox is smaller and much less conspicuous than an Altoids tin. Plus, they don't rattle. Castiel has learned that metal-on-metal rattling is a pretty dead giveaway, so he switched to cardboard. 

He opens the little box and delicately takes out the razor blade. 

Does he really want to do this tonight? He could definitely use the relief, no question, but then he's going to have to deal with clean up, and Chuck shouldn't be gone much longer… 

He pulls up the left sleeve of his sweater and looks at his arm. There's a couple empty spaces he could use. And his right arm is still relatively clear. Blank. 

The razor blade flips between and around his fingers while he thinks. 

Before he can make up his mind, the sound of the garage door closing makes it for him, so he pulls his sleeve back down, puts the blade back in the box, puts the box in the medicine cabinet, and goes downstairs. 

Chuck is in the kitchen struggling under an impressive load of take-out. He looks up when he hears Castiel, hastily puts the food on the island, and then his face does something between a smile and a wince. “I might have went kind of overboard…” 

“Maybe just a little.” 

“Also, I rented Star Wars. Thought you might wanna watch it while we take down this Everest of Chinese food.” 

Chuck is brandishing the DVD case with a goofy smile on his face. Castiel thinks about it. Then he starts digging through the take-out boxes to see what's in them. 

He watches Star Wars for the first time, and after it's over, Castiel thinks he understands why it's so popular.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first chapter of the first draft, and i plan on finishing the whole story and editing it before posting the rest. just so you know!


End file.
